


Mysterious Note

by BelovedSoulless



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dark Brotherhood - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3157592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelovedSoulless/pseuds/BelovedSoulless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my retelling of what happened during the trial to get into the dark brotherhood quest.  Appolonia was the first character I leveled to 100.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mysterious Note

      It was the last few days of the last seed of the season, rain poured from the heavens like ale from the kegs. Yet even as the gods piss like horses on the townspeople a lone messenger rides in, his large leather bag swishing and jolting as the horse slows to a stop outside the city gates, his dark green cloak was his pulled tight over his face. He hopped off the large steed and, grabbing a single folded letter from his bag he made his way to the inn. He glanced over his shoulder, as if half expecting someone to jump out from the shadows.

      The messenger pushed open the old inn door, the stench of stale ale wafted over him as he stepped in. The interior was dim; the only light was from a few sparse candles that had been lit at occupied tables and the slowly dying hearth. The Inn Keeper approached the skittish messenger, she was built like a stone wall; tall and broad shouldered with long black hair that was tied back in a messy bun.

      “I’m looking for a sell-sword of the name of Appolonia.”

      “Don’t kno’ no names, but there's a fem sell-sword in the back.” The inn keeper jabbed her stump of a thumb over her shoulder.

     “If that’ll be all.” And she made her way back to the desk, pouring another round of ale for the patrons.

      With a worried look, the messenger made his way through the inn, no one paid him mind as he weaved his way through the mess of chairs, the only evidence of a previous brawl the night before. He approached a woman who had slumped back in her seat; long white blond hair flowed down the back of the chair, her pale skin shawn in the dim light, the only marring of her skin was a thin scar that ran from her right eyebrow down to her chin. Armor that had seen its fair share of battles clung to her body like the mud and blood that decorated the leather and a great sword sat against her leg, the handle engraved with an eagle.

      “Don’t worry, it’s just for show.” She spoke without opening her eyes, her voice smooth like silk. The messenger swallowed nervously but nodded, quickly realizing that she couldn’t see his confirmation he hastily held out the letter, the paper rustling loudly in the suddenly quiet room.

      “I’m here to deliver this letter directly to the one they call ‘Appolonia’.” At that she sat up, opening her black eyes to scan the letter in his hands.

      “A wood elf. Not many around these parts.” He jumped back when Appolonia snatched the letter from his shaking grip.

      “So I’ve been told.” She took out a small dagger and sliced the seal open.

      “It’s from you know who.” He whispered hoarsely, ringing the edge of his cloak.

      “May the gods bless you.” With that the messenger took off, high tailing it back to his horse and as far away from the sell-sword as he could manage.

      Appolonia shrugged off his odd behaviour and opened the letter, which was a single piece of folded parchment with a large black hand print in the middle of the page and the words “WE KNOW” scrawled underneath it. She turned the piece of paper over in her hand a few times; no other names or messages were on it. The seal, which was now broken, was a deep red with no crest or lettering to indicate the sender. Appolonia was also not written anywhere on the letter, which meant two things: One, the sender hired the messenger directly to get this message to her. Two, the sender knew who she was and where she is.

      Another man sat down across from Appolonia before she could question the contents of the letter much further. He had dark skin with black intricate tattoos that started around his neck and sprawled down his torso. His one ear was pierced, a sign of rich upbringing, but his clothes were ratty and old. Born to a rich family that held on hard times, a story a bard could sing all his life and nothing more.

       “What have you got there?” The new man asked with no sense of shame.

      “Nothing of concern.” She folded the letter and lit the edge of it on fire with the low burning candle. She tossed the burning note in his empty tankard and pushed it off to the corner of the table to smolder.

      “On to business. Do you have the money we discussed?” She tightened her grip on the sword at her side.

      “Yes! In full.” He tossed a sack of coins on the table between them. Appolonia pawed through the sack, counting it out to make sure he didn’t stiff her. She nodded to herself and handed the odd man his sword.

      “I cannot tell you how grateful I am to have this back in my family. My father won many battles with this very sword, fed his whole family well with the gold he gained.”  
Appolonia sighed deeply, getting up from her chair.

      “I didn’t ask for your life story, write a book.” She tossed her long hair over her shoulder and grabbing her sack of coins, she made her way into her rented room on the second floor. She locked the door behind her, and faced the room.  
The room itself was sparse, a cot with a thick blanket on it, a rickety bedside table that held a puddle of melted wax that once could be called a candle, and a table with a bowl for washing. There were no windows in this room, specially requested. The only way in or out was through the now locked door. Being a sell-sword would gain anyone more enemies then friends and Appolonia was no exception. She tossed her bag of coins into her main and only bag, which wasn’t much larger than a sack of potatoes. With one last check on the lock Appolonia collapsed onto the hay filled cot quickly falling into a deep sleep.

      The soft click of the lock being unlatched awoke Appolonia but before she could reach for her knives she was hit over the head with what felt like the handle of a blade. Unconsciously she flopping unceremoniously back onto the cot, fingers resting lightly on her dagger. Her hands and feet were bound with rope and a burlap sack was tied around her head. Her assailant whistled once she was properly bound and a larger man walked into the small room and picked her up, hosting her over his shoulder. The two walked out with Appolonia in tow, shutting and locking the door once again behind them.

      When Appolonia awoke she was lying on the floor of an unfamiliar cabin her hands and feet unbound. Her head pounded and the room spun as she sat up. Her wrists were red where the rope had bit into her skin, by the stinging pain in her ankles she assumed they weren’t in better shape. They must have brought her here on horseback, the constant jolting would cause these types of wounds, the dried blood on her temple explains why she didn’t remember the ride here. The cabin had recent mug tracks in and out of varying size. The book self was dusty but not the bed or table, the place was well used but not inhabited by anyone person.

       “I’m glad to see your awake.” Came an unfamiliar voice from the doorway. Appolonia spun around to face them, instinctively going for her daggers but finding the holsters empty.

      “Really? I should be ashamed that you think so poorly of us. Now on your feet, the test begins now and I haven’t got all day to wait around while you get your ugly sleep.”

      “What test?” Appolonia tripped over her tongue, her mouth dry and sluggish.

      “You did get our message, didn’t you?” Appolonia only stared blankly at the woman, her head finally surfacing through the fog of a minor concussion.

      The woman that stood in the door was covered from head to in toe black ,light, leather armor. Her face was covered with a red bandana; the only thing visible was her bright blue eyes. Uncommon for northerners but his accent sounded like a city dock worker, her father was most likely from the other kingdom. She stepped away from the door jam, walking until he stood looming over Appolonia.

      “We know it was you who killed that old woman. She was our contract and you stole her from us. I wanted to kill you as compensation, but Mother thought better. Now we’re here having this pointless conversation while the test waits in the other room, and they’re getting anxious.” She paused, looking expectantly at Appolonia. “ Are you filled in now? Or should I go over it again slower?”

     “It was you who sent the black hand.” She stood up only slightly off balance.

      “Oh, give the dog a bone.” The woman clapped twice slowly.

      “I guess it would be pointless to ask who you are?”

      “Indeed. Now. Are. You. Ready?” She punctuated each word as though she was talking to a simpleton.

      “Yes.” Appolonia squared her shoulders and look the mask woman in the eyes. She was an inch shorter then her, with a lean build. She turned his back on her and the sigil of the assassin’s guild was branded into the leather under his cowl.

       Appolonia paused before following her, being a sell-sword was at least honorable work; never had she killed a man who wasn’t armed. Assassins were rats that snuck up on the un-armed and the unaware and killing them. Their victims couldn’t even join Sovngarde and live on with their fallen brethren.

       Appolonia entered the room, the masked woman longed in the chair next to the cold hearth, twirling a single unmark blade. On the floor sat three people, the hands bound behind their backs and sacks over their heads. The first was a man in nobleman’s clothes. He looked clean, obviously well off. His shoes look new, the leather soles barely looked like they had seen dirt. The second was a traveling merchant, his clothes ragged and well worn. They seemed to be patched together with higher quality linens, using what they could to stay warm in the harsh winter climate. His feet were bound in thick cotton, the likelihood of him having some sort of disease or rot on his feet. The third was a women, her dress was silk and covered in dirt and ripped in some places. Her hair was tied back with leather strips, her ears pierced with silver and gems.

      “You have four choices.” The masked woman’s voice made the three captives jump, all looking around widely.

      “Kill the nobleman who hires thieves to steal from his comrades to add to his own wealth.” The nobleman flinches, mumbling under his breath a prayer to the gods for forgiveness.

      “The merchant who is wanted of the charge of killing a guards men outside of the capital.” The merchant shook his head frantically.

      “I didn’t mean to kill him. He attacked our camp, stole our goods.” His accent was thick, as if he was straight out of the southern province.  
The masked woman kicked him sharply in the back of the head to shut him up. He sat back down and continued.

       “The Jarl's personal whore who had servants beheaded for crimes that she herself committed.”

      “Those peasants had it coming. Groveling to the Jarl all the time. ‘Oh we need sheets because we freeze in the dungeon.’ ‘We need more food, we are starving’. And that stupid bastard was going to give it to them. Ungrateful swine.” Her voice was shrill and nasally. Even as she knelt on the floor she kept her head raised and defiant.

      “Or, you could leave through that door.” She pointed the knife just passed Appolonia, who stood her ground.

      “What happens if I leave?”

      “Oh, I knew you were clever.” She stood up and sauntered over to Appolonia, the knife in her hand catching the light through the single window.

      “If you leave, all four of you die.” She placed the tip of the knife at Appolonia throat. She stepped back, pointing the knife at the three on the floor. “Your choices are simple. The thief among nobles, the traveling murderer, the bitch, or death?”


End file.
